“You remembered cream in my coffee.”
During my second shift, I brought him coffee from the cafe across the street.
He took one sip.
“You remembered cream in my coffee.”
“You complained about it for twenty minutes.”
“Complaining does not guarantee anyone listens.”
A few days later, the volunteer coordinator stopped me in the hall.
“It does when you are impossible to ignore.”
That earned the first smile I saw from him.
A few days later, the volunteer coordinator stopped me in the hall.
“Nathan requested you.”
“Why?”
I should have asked more questions.
“He said you remind him of someone.”
I should have asked more questions.
Instead, I started visiting him before I signed out.
Nathan told stories in pieces. He had washed dishes, driven delivery trucks, and spent most of his life running a diner.
Whenever I asked whether he had children, he changed the subject.
The man held up a folder.
